


Sugar

by TheSleeplessWriter



Series: Johnlock [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baking, Established Johnlock, Fanfiction, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Short Story, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleeplessWriter/pseuds/TheSleeplessWriter
Summary: Sherlock just wanted to add a little sugar.





	Sugar

Sherlock was adamant that he would not resort to something as trite and uninspired as baking to cure his boredom. Even though he was bored enough to toss himself out the window. John was the one who brought it up, mostly out of hope that it would stop Sherlock from harpooning the mannequin anymore. 

"No" He repeated, examining the rusty harpoon in his hands. "I'd rather shag." He said bluntly, looking up and wiggling his eyebrows. That certainly was one of his favorite non-boring pastimes. 

"Don't give me that, I know you're still sore from last night." John held up a yellow bag of milk chocolate morsels. "Look, I've got chocolate chips. We can make biscuits." He had already spread all the ingredients out in the table, as he was going to make the biscuits with or without Sherlock. He had even printed out a recipe from the internet. 

Sherlock's eyes drifted from the ingredients to the battered mannequin. Baking was a form of science, honestly. 

"Will it keep you from nagging worse than my mother?" Sherlock asked, although his voice implied he was already resigned to his fate. 

John let out a triumphant grin as he reread the recipe. Fairly simple, except...

"Bloody hell, you need bread flour?" John groaned. "Guess, I'll go pick some up at the supermarket." He stepped towards the stairs, reaching for his jacket. 

"I have some leftover wheat gluten from last week's experiment. Add that to the all purpose, it will be a fine substitute." Sherlock said, reaching out his arm to stop John. 

John looked up at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow. "And how'd you know that, Mary Berry? I thought you said baking was a trite, tedious pastime for peasants of a low IQ." 

"Bread flour has more protein, wheat gluten adds that. Really John, it's simple." Sherlock's voice was tinged with the snobby, show-off style he used when telling off Anderson. 

"Alright then, I'll grab that." John said, heading towards the pantry. "And don't use that tone with me, you brilliant git." He added, whapping Sherlock on the arse with the rolled up recipe paper. 

\---

"Damn it, we are not adding more sugar." John insisted, blocking Sherlock's hand that held a 1/2 cup of sugar. 

Nerves were already frayed. Flour dusted the entire kitchen, on account of someone (John) sifting the flour like a lunatic. The air was rife with the smell of burnt butter that was apparently supposed to be kept on low heat. Honestly, John should just be thankful Sherlock remembered to use the pot that didn't have burnt livers stuck on the bottom. 

"Yes we are, unless you want these biscuits to be as bland and boring as your writing." Sherlock snapped, throwing a jab at John's blog. "I know better, I'm a chemist."

It seemed that these two had very different ideas when it came to baking. John liked to follow the recipe— because it took him forever to find, it had five stars, and bloody hell, it was an Alton Brown recipe. The man knew what he was doing when it came to biscuits. Sherlock would much rather rely on his scientific knowledge and figure it out himself. 

Sherlock, having learned that being nasty gets you nowhere, decided to try a different tactic. He could try being nice. 

"Please?" Sherlock had bent down to rest his chin on John's shoulder, his hoarse voice tickling John's ear. Sherlock reached to the front and squeezed at John's crotch through dark blue jeans. He smiled to himself as he felt something stiffen against his hand. Sherlock kissed under John's jaw, his hand groping harder. 

It worked, just for a second. It felt so damn good and Sherlock was sucking hard enough to leave a noticeable mark— and then he remembered, this was Sherlock trying to get his own way. 

"Are you fucking seducing me just to add sugar into a sweet as hell dough?" John said, abruptly shoving Sherlock off. He looked down at his trousers, finding a floury handprint on his crotch. John quickly wiped it off, trying to focus on getting rid of his damn erection so he could concentrate on the task at hand. 

"There's already 225 grams of brown sugar and 56 of white. That's more than enough." John forced his voice to stay calm. Maybe quiet reason could make Sherlock listen. 

If you thought that would work, I don't know what kind of parallel universe Sherlock you are thinking about. 

Sherlock had tried being nasty and tried nice. There was only one other option. He shoved his way to the mixer and tried to dump in the extra sugar. 

Sherlock forgot that John had military reflexes. John's arm darted out in time to thwart the measuring cup away from its target. The cup flew in the air, followed by a white flash. A white flash of sugar scattering. 

Some of the sugar landed on the countertops and floor. Most of it landed atop Sherlock's curly head. 

The two stared at each other for a few seconds, neither moving, save for Sherlock's mouth hanging wide open in shock. 

John was the first to break, his lips curling upwards as he tried to stop a laughing fit. He failed. 

Many grains of sugar fell every time Sherlock breathed. His entire face looked like a sugar rolled donut. It was too damn hilarious to keep from laughing. 

Sherlock humphed, turning on his heel as he stomped out in disgrace. More sugar flew from his head. 

"I'm...sorry.." John called out amidst his post-laughing, wheezy breathing

A screeching sound came from the bedroom, which can only be described as the murder of a violin. 

John nearly went to go apologize again, but instead decided to let him cool down first. He might get stabbed with a violin bow if he went now. For now, he would clean up and continue with the biscuits. 

\---

Later in the afternoon, John tentatively knocked on the bedroom, a plate in hand. 

"Can I come in, Love? Biscuits are done." 

For a while he didn't get a response, and John was about to leave when he heard a quiet "Fine". 

Sherlock was seated on the corner of the bed, picking sullenly at his violin. Sugar was still in his hair, though much had already fallen. There was still bound to be some buried deep amidst those dark curls. A childish pout graced his usually serious face. It was altogether a pitiful sight. 

Sherlock reached up and grabbed the biscuit from the plate, taking a wolfishly large bite. 

"Does it taste as bland and boring as my blog?" John asked with a wry smile. The biscuits actually turned out good, if a bit flat. He should have left them in the fridge longer. 

Sherlock ignored the question, crossing his arms and turning his head so he wouldn't have to face John. More sugar fell from his hair. 

"Okay, I'm sorry. Stop moping." John pulled Sherlock to his feet. "I'll wash your hair in the bath." 

\---

John had his sleeves rolled up as he kneeled next to the bathtub, thoroughly washing Sherlock's hair. It was like having an extreme case of sand grain sized dandruff. Every time John scrubbed Sherlock's scalp, his fingernails became clogged up with sugar. It was damn hard work, and took at least twenty minutes. 

"There you go then. Good as new." John said as he toweled off those curly locks. He pressed a kiss against Sherlock's cheek. "All forgiven?" 

"No." Sherlock said plainly, giving John puppy dog eyes. 

"Alright then. I'll make it up to you. Strip and get on the bed." John ordered in the captain voice Sherlock loved so much. 

John decided to be a bit cruel, letting Sherlock wait for a solid ten minutes on the bed. As soon as he opened the door, Sherlock lifted his head up expectantly. 

"What the hell were you doing, taking so long? Cruel bastard." He complained, sitting up so that he was leaning against the bed. 

John climbed atop Sherlock, grabbing his chin and kissing him hard. He was pleased to feel Sherlock's cock eagerly pressing up. 

Give him a taste of his own medicine. John thought, grabbing roughly at Sherlock's erection as he sucked on the sensitive skin of his neck. Sherlock let out a strangled little cry. 

At least it was working. 

John lowered his mouth, licking a long line down his chest. This was stopped by a flurry of light kisses against his abdomen. The kisses kept going lower and lower, till he was right at Sherlock's cock. 

He paused here, ever the one to make Sherlock wait. John left a feather light kiss at the head, right where the slit was. 

Sherlock's fists were grasping at the sheets, his deep voice groaning. It seemed the less touch there was, the more powerful it was. 

John then worked on his inner thighs, teasing as he let his mouth occasionally touch Sherlock's cock. 

"You...bastard." Sherlock breathed, his voice gravelly. 

His cock was leaking, it was so fervent for touch. John decided to finally award Sherlock's patience and take him in the mouth. 

After having been toyed with and teased, the full on touch felt like an overload. It was like sneaking a bit of frosting from a cake, then being told you can have the whole thing too. 

"Oh, fuck." Sherlock tried to muffle his hoarse shout as he orgasmed. Sweat beaded his brow as he let a giant sigh of pleasure. His grey eyes were nearly all black, the pupils were so dilated. 

It wasn't often that John swallowed, but today he did, as a treat. He leaned back up to Sherlock and kissed him again, this time softly. The slightly salty taste of semen was still on his lips. 

"Forgiven now?" John asked amidst the slow kissing. 

Sherlock smiled. "Perhaps."

\---

The next morning, John found what must have been two kilos of sugar in his boxers drawer.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had some writer's block for the past few days, when this fic idea came to me and I just had to write it down. 
> 
> It's based on an incident in my childhood. I was arguing with my younger brother while baking cookies, and I stepped forward with a cup of sugar in hand. He shoved me, and all the sugar ended up in my hair. It was a nightmare to wash out.
> 
> Hope you liked, and feel free to leave kudos, comments, and constructive criticism! :)


End file.
